Taste Me (11 page)

He stared at the proximity of Scarlett’s open lips to the microphone she clasped with such authority. The feeble, phallic symbolism was inescapable.
Look away.
But damn, there was no safe place to rest his eyes. How could a man be expected to do his job when everywhere he looked was terrain straight out of his Top 10 fantasies list? Those leather boots climbing her taut thighs. The vulnerable slice of moon-pale skin above the boots. The soft T-shirt fabric clinging to her ass. The leather belt, slung twice around her hips, hanging on for dear life. The scissor-slashed neck of the T-shirt dress, exposing her collarbone and shoulder, threatening to drift south. Her nipples, crested proudly against the fine fabric.

Her champagne mandarin arousal, blooming on his tongue.

Stalking the stage like a huntress, she already had the people in the crowd bouncing in unison, reaching blindly toward her. As she leaned over the lip of the stage, she extended her free arm above the writhing crowd. She was used to the love and adulation of thousands. How could one man ever be enough for her? How could—

Shit, someone had her hand.

“Jack?” he snapped. But before he could clear the curtain, she’d already released herself—which was good, because his freakin’ audio was off. Screw Claudette’s request; he should have assigned someone else to this job—he wasn’t objective enough. It was never a good idea to guard someone you were invol—

They weren’t involved except in his imagination. He looked down to his unruly dick, which didn’t care about such foolish distinctions. He’d always thought he was a practical man, but in his imagination—in his dreams and fantasies—he and Scarlett were involved all right, involved for hours on end, cycling through every position in the
Kama Sutra
, and some that simply hadn’t been documented yet.

“Hey,” Garrett said, joining him. “She’s whipping ’em up fast tonight. I’m glad you’re here. Any sign of Stephen?”

“Negative.” Where was the guy? Despite Scarlett’s blithe response earlier, he knew just how worried she was. “We’re keeping our eyes peeled.”

His staff was executing cleanly, doing the job, and despite the volume of blood flowing south, he’d better find a way to do his.

And his responsibility was to watch Scarlett, all night long. As if he could help it.

***

Standing under the blazing lights a half hour later, sweat dripping down her backbone, dampening her dress, Scarlett leaned over the lip of the stage again, barely out of range of the bouncing heads and waving arms, and yowled the angry, sex-charged words of Orgy’s “Blue Monday.”

Things were going well. Other than some initial problems with the levels, quickly resolved, the band was performing like a well-oiled machine, despite Stephen’s absence. They were tight, everyone at the top of their game. Indeed, having Dave sitting at the kit had introduced a spark of spontaneity which had been lacking as they slogged wearily toward the end of the tour.

A hand grasped her ankle through the fine leather of her boots. Her toes curled and shrank in reaction, but she stood her ground and kept singing. She’d give Jack and the security staff about ten seconds to get the guy back, get him off of her, before stomping on his fingers.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Lukas’s eyes narrow. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, relaxing slightly as the guy let her go. She was far too attuned to him. When she performed, she wanted each person in the audience to feel like she was singing to each of them individually, but tonight they were being cheated. Reality was that her words were challenges, being flung with force at the feet of a single person: the massive lump of testosterone who hadn’t moved out of her line of sight all night long.

Not that it was working, she thought grumpily as the band tore into the end of the song. No, he simply stood there, his expression carved in stone. Every now and again she caught a whiff of his wild, dark pheromones, and yes, he had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, but so did every other man in the place. No, he simply stood sentinel, her plan to make him miserable clearly a stellar failure. If anything, her plan had boomeranged back on her times three, as the childhood faerie tales had portended. Watching the minute movements of his tongue shifting and swirling in his mouth distracted her to no end. Just looking at him made goose bumps ripple, her nipples tighten, and her sex pulse and clench on… emptiness.

She was empty. She wanted to be filled, and Dave’s heavy hand at the drums didn’t help. The vibrations pushed at her from the back, and buzzed up her legs from the wooden stage floor. Her body pulsing with each note, she surfed the wave of anger and frustration, nearly head-banging as the band finished out the song. When it ended, she stood in the blinding hot light and acknowledged the cheering and clapping. “Thank you!” she called.

While the applause eddied around her, she looked down at the set list taped to the floor at her feet. If the next three songs didn’t chip away at Lukas Sebastiani’s marble façade, nothing would.

“Are we having any fun yet?” she asked the crowd, giving the band a chance to swig from bottles and towel off some sweat. “Stephen couldn’t be with us tonight, but what a treat to have Dave sit in. Dave Grohl, everybody!” Scarlett indicated Dave with a wave of her hand, and started the clapping herself. Dave acknowledged the applause by lifting his bottle of beer with a toasting gesture and slinging his sweaty hair out of his face.

“Are you ready?” she called out to the crowd, her eyes shooting a challenge at Lukas as Dave tore into the opening tom-toms of Joan Jett’s “Do You Wanna Touch Me?” She extended her arms over her head, clapping on the two and four beats. Before long, most of the crowd had joined her. The song banged and throbbed, the band crisp and steady as a metronome behind her, Tansy and Dave laying down the beat like they’d been playing together for years rather than minutes.

Holding Lukas’s gaze, she spread her legs, planted them, and swayed her hips back and forth in time to the music. The crowd pulsed in time with her, swaying back and forth like a single organism. She saw Lukas swallow, his nostrils flare, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. No. They blazed with heat, with intent. Of what, she didn’t know, but a shudder tore through her body nonetheless. She was a hair’s breadth away from coming, and he hadn’t touched her with anything other than his eyes.

She tore her gaze away from his and strutted back to center stage, focusing on what she could see of the people in the crowd. After the first couple of rows closest to the stage, individual faces blurred. The pheromone level had noticeably spiked, and the crowd surged toward the stage, trying to get closer. Almost before she saw Jack’s lips move, a perimeter formed to hold back the crowd. Lukas was ready to step out from behind the curtain. To do… what? Snatch her out from beneath the ravening horde? Rescue her like a damsel in distress?

And then what?

His hands clenched, then released.
Ahhh, finally. The first crack.
She felt his eyes travel her body from head to toe and back again. His tongue moved subtly in his closed mouth.

What did she taste like to him?

Time to raise the stakes. She found a familiar face in the second row. Crooking a grin at Chadden, she reached her hand into the crowd to pull him onstage. She wrapped her arm around his waist and held the microphone up to their mouths. He easily picked up her rhythm, singing the “yeahs” in the call-and-response section of the song.

She knew if she gave Chad an inch he’d take a mile, so… she gave it to him. It wasn’t long before his cheerful, talented hand drifted from her waist to her hip, then slipped along her ass. The crowd laughed as she moved his hand, and finally the song ended. Chad being Chad, the vamp turned her “thank you” peck into a silky French kiss. Scarlett sank into his touch—very smooth, very nice—but it wasn’t the rough, scrappy kiss she knew would satisfy her.

She backed away from Chadden just as Lukas stepped out from behind the curtain. Chad didn’t deserve to get the shit kicked out of him because she wanted to make Lukas react.

As Chad jumped off the stage, Lukas stepped back, but not without glowering at her first. She raised a brow in response. He replied by crossing his arms and widening his stance.

Her gaze drifted south. She’d gotten a reaction, all right.

***

This was absolute torture. Frank sexual energy crackled in the air, and the place was saturated with pheromones. If he had been alone, there was no doubt in his mind that his dick would be in his hand. It was all he could do to keep his arms crossed at his chest.

To stop himself from throttling her.

Scarlett had been building the vibe all night, stoking it like a bonfire. He estimated that they were about three-fourths of the way through the show. The crowd no longer even pretended to dance, instead swaying and grinding against each other, a frank group frottage.

Thank the aurora that Jack had taken his meds, because things were getting a little dicey at the front of the stage. Scarlett was standing too close to the edge again. Each time she reached out to grasp the supplicating hands that reached up to her, the crowd surged. Stuffed animals, flowers, thongs, and jocks littered the stage. Hands groped wildly at Scarlett, who was posed at the lip of the stage, one foot planted atop an amp as she blithely sang a song about touching herself.

Jesus.

A couple of meatsticks in the front whipped out their cell phones, hoping to snap an upskirt shot. Anger surged at the thought of some asshole having a picture of whatever Scarlett was—or wasn’t—wearing under that skimpy excuse for a dress. How could her band mates focus, watching her luscious ass twitch and shift all night long, night after night?

Scarlett was in her own little world, completely unaware that a good portion of the pit was just waiting for a glimpse of her panties.

The crowd was going wild, and understandably so. Since the start of the show, they’d been lyrically invited to line up for a blow job, asked for a one-night stand because they were perfect strangers, begged to be her pleasure victim, informed that all day long she dreamed about sex. And now, after calling out a hasty apology to the mother she couldn’t see, watching from the VIP box, she crooned, “I Touch Myself.”

The taste of her humid arousal had deepened to mango. She was turned on, horny, and didn’t seem to care who knew it. She’d pulled a strange vamp onstage with her and let him bury his tongue in her mouth.

No, Scarlett had left no doubt whatsoever about what was on her mind. Sasha’s statement about Scarlett’s right to sleep with a different fan every night haunted him. Would she take that slinky vamp home tonight, use his body to take the edge off? Let him use hers?

A collective groan went through the crowd as Scarlett placed her hand on her inner thigh, stroking the cuff of her boot with a delicate forefinger. Every molecule in Lukas’s body went on Red Alert, and his dick was raging against his zipper. He wouldn’t be surprised if its teeth were permanently carved into his flesh.

But he couldn’t look away.

From his position back in the wings, Lukas watched the sweaty guitarist, Michael, throw his head to the ceiling and make his guitar squeal as he and Scarlett traded verses on “Erotic City.” When Scarlett stroked the neck of Michael’s guitar with her hand, Lukas knew he wasn’t alone imagining that small, soft hand wrapped around his dick.

She swayed with the music, power blazing in her eyes, and her suggestive voice swooped and looped around the room before burrowing into each and every person in the audience.

Scarlett was hiding it well, but she looked ready to drop. The band had been performing for over two hours, and standing backstage he’d gotten a brand new perspective on how hard the band worked. Michael’s chest and arms were pumped like he’d spent the night quarrying rocks. The drummer’s hair was lank and wet, his teeth gritted, his arms pounding the skins like a jackhammer. Joe was wilting at his rhythm guitar. Tansy alone seemed unaffected, her feet planted, banging out the bass line with methodical steadiness.

When the final notes faded, howls and shrieks of delight split the air. From the back of the room, the crowd surged toward Scarlett en masse. Jack hollered “Perimeter!” to the Sebastiani Security and Underbelly event staff working the front of the stage. Lukas lunged out from behind the curtain, snatching Scarlett back from her precarious position with an arm around her waist. “I’ve got you.”

Scarlett sagged, wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Scarlett?” he repeated, his voice strangling out of his suddenly tight throat. She didn’t mean anything by the embrace, but it didn’t stop him nuzzling his cheek against her hair.

Her eyes flew open. Locked with his. “I’m… okay. Thank you.”

He released her, going back to his position next to Garrett in the wings. Scarlett walked to the front of the stage and spoke softly into her hand mike. “Hey folks, stop pushing, please.”

Something in her voice was like an anesthetic. The crowd settled down.

“Thank you.”

A sole voice in the audience called out, “We love you, Scarlett!”

Scarlett smiled and responded, “We love you too.” Catcalls and applause followed, and when it finally died down, Scarlett simply stood there, staring into the bright, hot lights. The crowd quieted. Waited.

She stepped back, put her hand mike on its stand, and walked back toward the drums, to where a shiny black guitar stood. Garrett, standing next to him, whipped his head to the set list hanging on the wall. “She’s off the grid.”

Lukas suspected the phrase meant something entirely different to Garrett than it did to him, because Scarlett was standing right there, swiping her damp hair back into a hasty ponytail using an elastic band on her wrist.

“She doesn’t need a guitar for the next song they’re supposed to play,” Garrett was saying. “I have no idea what’s coming next. The band doesn’t either. Buckle in.”

In the silence, Scarlett picked up a towel from the stack on the drum riser and swiped it across her face, over her neck and exposed shoulders, then had a quick huddle with a roadie. A stool was set center stage, and the mike stand repositioned.

She stepped back into the spotlight carrying her guitar and sat, exhaustion pulsing off her in waves as the crowd hooted and called out requests. Silence. Finally, she strummed out several keening chords that had him swallowing before she sang a word.

Beside him, Garrett relaxed slightly. “‘Such Reveries.’ Duncan Sheik. We’ve rehearsed this. But I don’t know if Dave—”

Tansy stepped over and mouthed the song title to the drummer just in time for him to join in with a soft tap. Swaying on her stool, Scarlett softly sang a tale of two soul mates on vacation, watching the ocean, riding horses on the beach. A fantasy romantic interlude. But her voice shifted from wistful to tear-stained as the song took a surprise twist: the whole thing was just a reverie, a fantasy. It never happened.

Her regret tasted like dirt on his tongue.

The last notes drifted away. There was a moment of hushed silence before the audience responded with cheers and deafening applause. While they clapped, Scarlett momentarily turned away from the crowd and covered her face with her hand.

“Damn.” Tomas Diego reached around him to snag one of Scarlett’s water bottles.

Garrett looked at his watch, raised an eyebrow. “Good of you to show up. I was taking bets that Dave would play the encore.”

Tomas laughed and twisted the cap off the bottle, tipped his head back, and guzzled. He’d lost his shirt somewhere along the line, and Lukas had a clear view of the tattoos layering most of the man’s torso and arms. His cobbled abdomen exclaimed CARNAGE in elaborate gothic letters, but his children’s names were etched into his wrists in their own childish handwriting. Nothing seemed to be holding up his baggy, wallet-chained jeans except his porn star dick.

Tomas breathed heavily as he finished drinking. “She’s in love.”

“What?” Lukas whipped his head to the other man as Garrett passed Tomas a snowy white towel from the stack on the table.

“Thanks.” Tomas wiped down his chest and hitched up his sagging pants. “Dude, can’t you feel it? Homesick, horny, pissed—and in love.” He flashed a grin. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Lukas stood ramrod straight, broadening his upper body in response to the sexual energy pulsing off the other man—energy that somehow managed to be both cheerful and lascivious.

BACK. OFF.
The words were on the tip of Lukas’s tongue when the taste of ashes barreled down his throat.

He snatched one of Scarlett’s airsickness bags off the stack and heaved.

***

A blue-tinged spotlight picked up a delicate touch at an electric piano. Applause surged as the people standing closest to the stage realized a drummer change had occurred in the dim light. The moment was magic, and Tomas milked it for all he was worth.

Dispassionately, Scarlett knew it would film beautifully. But… what was wrong with Lukas?

The silence hung. Raucous applause pulled her attention back to the matter at hand. She met Tomas’s eyes and nodded.

She was… home.

Her eyes stung as she lost herself in someone else’s lyrics, someone else’s song. One more show where she couldn’t bring herself to sing even one of the songs that had made the band famous—songs she’d written, emotions she’d purged, in the aftermath of the shattering night she’d spent with Lukas Sebastiani.

When she’d awakened the following morning to find him gone.

Lukas reappeared in the wings at the guitar bridge, a little pinched and pale around the lips but still standing strong. Her stomach fluttered, but she aimed the final sustained high note at him like a sharpshooter’s bullet.

Want me. Love me.

She watched it hit, saw his abdomen clench under the clingy sweater. Felt his pheromones bloom in response, felt them shiver into her. Their eyes locked across the distance. The final piano notes faded. The moment hung.

And as the crowd broke its silence and roared, with a blink she raised the microphone to her lips, calling over the applause, “Thank you so much. Thanks for welcoming us home.” She gestured to Tomas, who stood and blew her a kiss, stoking the applause higher. The band put down their instruments and joined her at the front of the stage, Dave walking from backstage with a fresh beer in his hand. They all took bow after bow. Michael, Tansy, and Joe finally waved and walked off the stage, leaving Scarlett, Tomas, and Dave. The guys stepped back, and the crowd went wild as Scarlett stepped to the front of the stage to take a final bow. She waved to the crowd to acknowledge the applause, and choked out a “thank you” that no one could hear.

After a quick, final wave, she joined arms with Dave and Tomas, and let them escort her off the stage.

“You okay?” Dave murmured as she sagged between them.

She automatically nodded yes as they reached the backstage area, but her knees positively wobbled as Garrett bundled her into her robe, slinging a towel around her neck like a muffler. Lukas handed her an open bottle of water. “Thank you.” Was that her hand? It tingled, and she couldn’t really make the fingers work. Her vision blackened around the edges, contracted to a tunnel. Lukas spoke into his headset, directing the security staff to clear the hallway to the dressing rooms.

The bottle dropped to the floor. His arm was around her waist, a manacle supporting her weight, before the water splashed his pants.

“Okay, we’re moving,” Lukas said, practically carrying her down the hall, Garrett and Jesse trailing in their wake.

Scarlett leaned into Lukas’s strong body. Pheromones steamed off of him, dark and luscious.

“Holding on?” he asked.

Her eyes were nearly closed, but she nodded in response to his soft question, stroking her cheek against his cashmere sweater.

A low groan rumbled in his chest.

When they reached Scarlett’s dressing room, Lukas didn’t let go. “Clear it,” he ordered the tough-looking guard standing at the door. The man disappeared into the room. Lukas lowered his head to her ear. “We need to talk.”

She nearly shuddered at his tone, half-promise, half-threat.
Finally
. “When?” Neither of them was anywhere near done working.

“After the party tonight?”

She nodded. She’d be absolutely exhausted, but she might never get this chance again.

The guard returned. “Clear.”

Lukas squeezed her hand before passing her to Jesse. “We’ve got your door.” With one glance back, he left the room, closing the door with a snap.

“I don’t have time for a bath, do I,” Scarlett confirmed with Garrett.

“Take all the time you need.”

“Let’s make it a shower tonight, Jesse,” she said. She didn’t want to keep people waiting any longer than necessary. There were always people waiting.

But the sooner she finished with work, the sooner she could talk with Lukas.